


that lovin' man ain't no rolling stone

by homobromantic



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, fair warning im not caught up and the content of the fic reflects that, originally i was planning to do a long fic but im so tired this is all i could scrounge up, please.. accept, set in during the end of the calamity tree arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 03:03:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homobromantic/pseuds/homobromantic
Summary: the mothman announces his comeback to a sleepy audience and, unbeknownst to you, the reader, before this very admission from the author, moves in





	that lovin' man ain't no rolling stone

Duck didn’t tend to dream. Most of his nights were blissfully empty and unburdened, which made the few times he did dream all that more alarming. Usually, when he dreamt, he saw glimpses and abstracts of a future he could not understand and felt tragedy in short bursts of fear that woke him up with a start. 

Which was why, when hearing his name, whispered softly but insistently from the void beyond his eyelids, Duck Newton’s blood started pumping in anticipation. His eyebrows twitched, slack mouth tensing into a suggestion of a frown. His hand, already haphazardly thrown in its direction sometime during his sleep, twitched with the instinctual need to hold Beacon. 

“Duck… Duck Newton,” The sandpaper whisper came again, louder and more insistent. 

Duck swore he felt breath on his face. His dreams had never breathed on him… 

Adrenaline was starting to drag him from his sleep, and each second toward consciousness helped him formulate the complex thought of  _ oh god, it’s not a dream _ . The final straw was a minute shift of his bed, a weight dipping the left side of his mattress carefully and stirring his covers. 

Even before he had opened his eyes, Duck was lurching sideways for Beacon. 

A cool hand closed over his wrist with almost superhuman speed, pinning his arm to the bed. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness of his room yet as he tried to swing his free hand, but that too was halted by a hand closing around his fist. 

His fast-paced heartbeat thundered away prominently in seventeen different places and his breathing was starting to go short. 

“Let’s not repeat that, Duck Newton,” he heard the gray blob in his vision suggest in a voice slightly too formal for the occasion. 

A familiar voice. 

Still panting slightly, Duck blinked into the dark until his vision allowed the impression of Indrid Cold, almost holding his hands and definitely looming over him in his bed, to come into focus. 

“‘Ndrid? Wh-” Duck’s voice croaked awkwardly. “What? What time’s it… What’re you doin’ here?”

“It is quite late, Duck,” Indrid replied vaguely, a sheepish grin stretching his mouth. 

“Uh, yeah… no- no shit.” 

There was a pause in which all the fight drained out of Duck with every quick breath, eyes straining to make out Indrid Cold’s expression from the shadows. He was wearing his glasses, the wireframes reflecting the tiny bit of light Duck’s haphazardly closed curtains allowed. Duck wasn’t out of it enough to forget he had had those glasses tucked away in his coat since he’d punched them off the Mothman. 

“I gave myself the liberty of grabbing them, Duck Newton. I hope you don’t mind. I figured perhaps the sight of a giant… moth would be more frightening for you at this time.” 

Duck cleared his throat, “S’alright, um. Meant to give ‘em to you next time I saw ya’ but… uh.” 

As his breathing steadied and his heartbeat less harshly, his limbs slowly relaxed. The fist Indrid was holding lowered to rest on his own stomach and the arm Indrid was pinning went slack.

“I apologize for the delay,” Indrid whispered, still holding Duck’s arms. His grip had loosened. If Duck moved, he could easily break out of Indrid’s hold since -by then- it was more of a touch. 

He decided to blame the hour and sleepiness as the reason he didn’t shake Indrid off. “What’ve you- why’d you wait for nearly a whole week? If you don’t mind me askin’.” Then -because Indrid’s opaque red glasses had always unnerved Duck with all their mystery and secret-keeping and did he mention mystery?- he kept rambling, voice cracking. “We thought- thought you’d left. After Keith ‘n the abom’nation... Sorry ‘bout punching you. I was kinda panicking ‘n, uh. Yeah. ‘m sorry.” 

Indrid’s sharp shoulders, mostly bare under his signature white tank top, lifted minutely. “It’s quite alright, Duck. I spent a few days doing my own panicking.” He drew his cool hands back to himself, sitting back so he wasn’t hunched over Duck. “You must understand, Duck Newton, that I am a bit of a… coward. I learned that oftentimes it was easier to run from disaster than to attempt sticking it out or helping. Doing so tends to not work out for me. But, what is going on here in Kepler… the fate we are building up to with every abomination is not just disaster. I cannot see it yet, the future is… is still too far off and unclear, but I can feel that it is not just disaster, no… it is apocalyptic. The fates of both our worlds are precarious. I can’t… just walk away from this as instinct tells me to.”

Duck couldn’t be sure where Indrid was looking before, but his head tilted toward Duck then, the corners of his lips quirked up. “On a lighter note, there are futures I have seen that I am unwilling to let pass me by.” 

Unsure on what to reply, Duck blearily stared back, seeing himself looking dumb in the reflection of the red lenses. Half his hair was flat against his head while the rest stuck out in every direction. “Uh, good. Th’s good.” 

Duck’s eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open as the drop in adrenaline caused his drowsiness to return. (Why was he so reassured by the presence of this strange man, who he’d spoken with only a handful of times and hardly about anything pleasant?) Don’t get him wrong- he was glad Indrid had decided to come back instead of running away, but the middle of the night was no time for welcome-back’s and apocalyptic talks. 

Thoughtlessly, Duck settled back into bed, raising his covers up to his chin. “All right. ‘M goin’ back to bed…” 

Duck didn’t see Indrid’s widened smile. “I’m taking your couch, Duck Newton.” 

Duck Newton was already asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> now image a montage of quirky roommate situations because i am sorry but i cannot write them for you. im waiting for my ability to write to return from war.  
the plan was a couple of chapters of canon-compliant ish stuff except indrid would be livin with duck the whole time and tryna be sneaky about it and it would be very "oh my god they were roommates" of them.  
not edited after i pasted it into ao3! so if the formatting is all fucked up thats on you for noticing.


End file.
